


My Own Share of Unspeakable

by Deannie



Series: The Tascosa Saga [5]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Mind Manipulation, Supermagnificent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:56:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: A man that driven to heal and help wouldn’t have done much bad in his life. But then, Hal thought, Nathan had seen a lot of bad. And that was sometimes even better. (part of the Supermagnificent AU)





	

**Author's Note:**

> for the hc_bingo prompt eating disorder

Nathan walked lightly into the saloon just before noontime, looking for lunch, and maybe one of the others, but the place was empty.

Ezra was sleeping off his adventure up in the clinic. Not much the worse for wear, he’d been lucky the knife hadn’t gone too deep. And the bullet hadn’t hit too close. Hell, he was lucky to be alive, really.

But he was. He was alive, and JD was over at the jail looking for the dead man in all his wanted posters; see if he could find out more about who they were dealing with. Nathan snorted his disbelief as he nodded a hello to Inez and took his seat. What had happened to the simple life he’d led before these men had come to town?

“Good morning, Nathan,” Inez called. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Whatever you have on is fine, Inez, thanks,” he said, shaking off the annoyance he didn’t really feel. He wouldn’t trade his life for anything. Being able to help, to do things for people, sure as hell beat the helplessness he’d been born into.

“Is the food here good?”

Nathan looked up at the question, finding a plain-looking white man standing politely across the table from him. “Um, yeah,” he offered, puzzled. “Yeah, Inez is a good cook.”

A headache was wanting to grow at the base of his skull—a sort of lightning strike in his brain for a second. He needed some coffee and a rest, he expected.

“You just come into town recently?” he asked the man. Didn’t look suspicious, but then, not all bad guys did.

“Yesterday,” the man allowed. “I had a bit of quick business.” He smiled wryly. “Not quick enough, though. I didn’t realize the stages don’t cross here.”

Nathan smiled. “No sir. Stages cross in Bakertown. The northbound’ll be here tomorrow.”

The man sighed. “I’ll just have to wait, then.” Inez smiled at him questioningly as she placed the plate of beans and rice in front of Nathan. The man looked at the plate and Nathan chuckled to see his mouth water. “And perhaps I’ll have some of that, as well, ma’am?”

“Of course, Senor,” she allowed, heading back to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, I’ve lost all my manners on this trip,” the man said. He held out his hand. “Harry Macon.”

“Nathan Jackson,” Nathan offered. Man was a little too friendly, and Nathan’s headache was growing. The food in front of him suddenly didn’t smell much like something he’d care to eat.

“You were a slave, weren’t you?” Macon asked, sitting at the table, uninvited but not turned away.

Nathan nodded. That smell… like the rotten fruit that fell off trees on his run north from Alabama. Hell, most of the time, it was all he had to eat.

Inez placed a plate in front of the man and smiled at them both. She looked a little vacant. A little… Lord his head hurt!

“I expect you have a lot to do in the kitchen, don’t you, Senorita?” Macon asked her.

“Si, por supuesto,” she said softly, turning and walking away without another glance. 

Nathan and the man were alone. Except… he wasn’t here.

“The run north,” Macon’s voice said. “It wasn’t easy, was it?”

No, it wasn’t. Nathan looked around him, at the long grass, the mud he crouched in. Sunset was coming. He could move, then. Maybe make it to the next town. God, he was hungry! Last thing he had was a soured apple at dawn—trees in the orchard had already been picked over...

“You could have asked for help,” Macon reminded him. 

That little yellow farmhouse was suddenly in front of him. The yellow farmhouse with the sweet young mama and her babe. Her husband was a soldier for the Union, but she couldn’t tell nobody that, of course.

“Did, sometimes,” Nathan told him, watching her. She beckoned him closer to the house. He’d go, rest a bit. She made the best stew he’d ever eaten…

The lightning in his head grew suddenly, making that night dark and evil. 

“And it didn’t end well, did it?” 

Macon’s voice was like thunder, and suddenly, a trio of rebels were dragging him and the lady who’d helped him out into the yard, the baby left screaming in the house. 

“No…” Nathan whispered, horror in his head. It hadn’t happened that way.

But it had. It  _ did _ . Because he was watching now, like he wasn’t a part of it, as the Confederate soldiers slapped the woman to the ground, held her as she screamed for her baby—as they lit the house on fire and let it burn.

“You did that, Nathan,” Macon reminded him, as the memory became solid and painful and torturous in his mind. Yes, like Vin, Nathan had his own share of unspeakable…

“I didn’t mean to,” he tried to explain, earnest and sad. “I just needed help.”

“But asking for it only leads to trouble, isn’t that true?” the voice said. He didn’t know whose voice it was anymore, but it was soft and rich and in his mind. “Run north, Nathan,” the voice commanded. “Don’t stop for anything. Sleep, food,  _ help _ . Nothing.”

Nathan nodded. Nothing. Run north…

 

“Senor Jackson?”

Inez’s amused call had Nathan straightening in surprise from where he’d fallen asleep at the table, his head cradled in his arms. 

“Too tired to eat your food?” she asked teasingly, gesturing to a plate beside him. The beans and rice looked fabulous—he was  _ starving _ all of a sudden—but as he reached out to grab the fork, worry and heartache twisted in his gut.

He forced himself to smile, forced himself to stand. “Actually, Inez, I just remembered something needs doing up at the clinic.”

“Ah,” she said, confused. 

“I gotta go, ma’am,” Nathan murmured, making his retreat. 

He walked out into the sun and took a long, deep breath.  _ Can’t eat there, _ he thought.  _ Isn’t safe. Ain’t safe for her. _ He stood tall and walked toward the clinic, his mind smoothing over the thoughts as he walked away from what he couldn’t have.  _ Gotta keep going. Ain’t got no choice about it. _

***********

Hal Marconi stood in front of the mercantile, grinning as he watched Nathan Jackson walk toward his clinic. The ex-slave had needed time to process the new truths Hal had given him—some people did—so Hal had simply finished his own meal, strolled out, and left him  _ sleeping _ . The bar manager didn’t even remember him entering the saloon, though Hal figured she might wonder where the empty dish on the bar came from. The beans and rice had been lovely.

Nathan Jackson had been tasty as well, of course. He’d been easy to manipulate, but the desperation and determination that had seen him north to freedom were a bitter flavor Hal always enjoyed.

A man as driven to heal and help as Nathan was, Hal hadn’t figured he’d done much bad in his life. But then, he thought, reaching into the bag of candies he’d bought from the sweet widow inside, he’d  _ seen _ a lot of bad. And that was sometimes even better.

Hal sighed in contentment, turning toward the boarding house. Nathan Jackson would go about his business, as if nothing was wrong. But a man could only go so long without food or sleep. And a healer would last even less time, wouldn’t he? The sadness and hopelessness as he tried and tried to heal those around him—and Hal planned on those around him needing healing—would be delicious.

“Now, Ginny, honey, I didn’t mean to say you wasn’t a fine, upstanding girl!” a loud, boisterous man called. 

Hal stepped off the boardwalk, looking for the speaker, and saw Buck Wilmington across the street, rushing after a livid young woman.

“Aw, now, Ginny, come on!” he cried out, stopping his pursuit. The empath’s disappointment reached out and Hal calmed himself with an effort.

Wilmington’s mind was a fantastic place. A place Hal planned to spend some time exploring. But not now. He was full—there were secrets to put away.

But tonight, maybe?

He strolled along toward the boarding house, a spring in his step as he looked forward to sunset.

********   
the end


End file.
